


Nev's Drabbles & Ficlets: AtS Collection 2

by Nevcolleil



Category: Angel - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevcolleil/pseuds/Nevcolleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Het, slash and gen drabbles and ficlets written in the Angel fandom, all rated NC-17 or above. Read at your own risk, dears. Each chapter is a separate short work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was about more than sex.

A soft moan. And then another.

An answering growl.

"More," Angel whispered, a command.

Wesley moaned again as Angel rocked against him. Angel nuzzled his neck, found one nipple and pinched it between his fingers.

" _More_."

"Angel..." was Wesley's breathy reply.

It was the only time Angel had ever fed from someone, when the feeding wasn't about the blood.

As Angelus there had been times when he and Darla, or he and Spike-

But even then, that had been about _pain_. And pleasure. Sex. Dominance.

There was pain here, too - in the tiny hiss that escaped Wes as Angel's fangs slid into his flesh. Undeniable pleasure in Wesley's soft moan as Angel slid into _him_.

But there was also the way Wes's heart had sped at every flick of Angel's tongue across his pulse point... The way his neck had arched just a bit when Angel'd begun to nibble. The way he hadn't flinched when he'd felt Angel, face pressed against Wes's shoulder, change. Instead he'd turned his own face in that direction; pressed a gentle kiss on Angel's ridged brow.

Wesley hadn't been frightened the first time Angel's eyes had gone gold in the middle of their lovemaking. He hadn't shied away when, impossible to control, the passion had become too much and Angel had vamped out. He'd countered Angel's guilt and shame and dismay...with acceptance and understanding; love.

This was about more than Wesley pain, and the taste of his blood - sweet copper - warm in Angel's mouth. This was about more than Angel's pleasure, and the feel of Wesley writhing, giving, taking, beneath him. This was about more than sex.

And even on top, out of game face, the loss of control Angel had felt - when he'd realized he couldn't resist this - continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original publish date: February 25, 2005


	2. For What Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel hallucinates during "Soul Purpose".

He was almost starting to get the hang of these hallucinations.

He knew the things he was seeing weren’t real. But that didn’t make them any easier to accept.

“Buffy?”

Spike looked up from the tangle of bodies and sheets his lover was hidden in, a single drop of sweat running down the side of his face. Angel became fixated upon that, and upon the breathlessness of Spike’s quiet voice as he said, “Won’t be long now.”

Angel turned his attention to the conversation Buffy and Spike were having - not having - beside him.

“You’re taking Buffy to the prom?”

Buffy replied: “Can you say jumping the gun? I kill my goldfish.”

Angel still couldn’t see her face. Only her blonde hair, fanned out over his pillow; her hands gripping Spike’s shoulders as the other vampire moved on top of her.

Angel was confused. “I thought we were going to-”

Spike and Buffy shifted, so that Angel could see even less.

“Shh.” Spike glared at him. “I can’t be a marathon man with all your yammering.”

Angel could not process that. Was only beginning to realize what was happening - _not_ happening - in his bed… When Spike rolled onto his back, taking his lover with him so that they were on top…

While Angel had been unable to see enough before, he could see too much now. The slide of Spike’s hands up strong thighs, to rest on narrow hips… The look on Spike’s lover’s face each time Spike thrust up into him.

The _look_ of Spike’s lover’s face.

“ _Wes_?”

Wesley looked down at Angel through half-lidded eyes, pupils dilated and irises as blue as Angel had imagined they would be when darkened by desire.

“Don’t look at me, Angel,” Wes said. “This is your dream, after all.”

Angel opened his mouth - for what purpose, he wasn’t certain. Maybe to deny that he ever dreamt of Wesley. Maybe to ask why he was dreaming of him now.

Maybe to tell Spike that if he didn’t take his _goddamned_ hands off of-

Spike flipped Wesley onto his back so that he was on top again.

“Not that you’ll hear me complainin’,” Spike said, no longer looking at Angel. “Knew there was a reason they called you _Head Boy_.”

Wesley leaned up to bite at Spike’s lips. Spike slid one hand around the back of his neck and held Wesley as they kissed.

“What-”

Angel felt short of breath and sick. There was a pain growing in his chest, right where the stake had went in after Wesley had told him he no longer mattered.

This time it was Wes who shushed him.

“Best not to speak of it,” Wesley said. “You know how you hate gray areas.”

Wesley’s eyes left Angel’s face, and Angel followed his gaze to his own chest. The skin over his ribs was a dull, waxy gray. Angel could see his heart - small and wretched-looking - beating just under it.

Wesley suddenly grabbed the top sheet, pulling it up over himself and Spike…

Angel awoke, alone in his bed, gasping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original publish date: February 12, 2005


	3. Waited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doyle's a bit fed up with all of his crushes ending up in Angel's bed. Except he doesn't find Angel with Wesley _in_ bed, exactly... And this time, the whole thing works out much more to Doyle's advantage.

“Ah…no.”

Angel looked up from where he was leaning over his kitchen counter to find Doyle standing in the doorway, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise.

“ _Angel_.” Doyle’s voice was accusatory; heartbroken. He sounded the way he had the morning he’d found Cordelia sitting at Angel’s kitchen table in a bathrobe. But worse.

“Doyle.”

Angel doubted he could claim he’d slept on the couch this time.

“Ah, Angel, how _could_ you?”

Wesley twisted out from under him, panting and flushed. His voice was strained from the discomfort of having been bent back over Angel’s counter, and the pleasure Angel was drawing out of him with hands and tongue and teeth. “Francis?” he breathed.

Doyle’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and he turned on his heel to leave.

“Doyle!”

Angel caught up with him before he made it to the elevator. Doyle shrugged off the hand Angel placed on his shoulder, as if it burned, then whirled on the vampire angrily.

“Man, I can’t _believe_ you! You knew I… _You knew_!”

“Doyle, I…”

Doyle’s eyes dropped, momentarilly - from Angel’s face to the open robe that was hanging off his shoulders - before he snapped them back in place. Angel shifted on his feet and pulled the robe closed apologetically.

While Doyle was speechless, Angel tried to explain.

“Doyle, listen, I know how this looks. But, honest, I didn’t mean to-”

Doyle laughed out loud. “Didn’t _mean_ to… You arse! You backstabbing, double-crossing… _arse_!” Doyle stumbled over his own words, too angry to think of any curses more fitting.

Angel blinked. Then frowned. Then took a step closer. “Hey.”

Doyle didn’t notice.

“Of all the… I told you how I felt about… I’ve never… And you _told_ me to-”

“I know, Doyle! I know, I just-”

“You told me to go for it! You-”

Doyle _did_ notice Angel’s proximity when he slapped both his hands against the wall on either side of Doyle’s head and towered over him. Doyle flinched, and the anger in his expression melted into shock once again, as he awaited what appeared to be a violent reaction from the vampire...

When Angel gently brushed his lips over Doyle’s own, Doyle froze. Shock didn’t even register. Doyle’s eyes flew to Angel’s, but whatever he might have expected to see there, there was only tenderness, and apology, and-

And then Doyle saw Wesley standing only a few steps away from them, wrapped now in a robe of his own.

The rollercoaster ride Doyle’s heart had boarded took another steep dip.

“Wes, I…”

Wesley strode towards them, an intense expression on his face. Doyle didn’t get the chance to wonder what _he_ might do, before Wes’s mouth was crushed against his own; Wesley’s fingers were threading through his hair. The kiss was hot, and deep, and it was only when Wesley’s tongue had slipped past his lips - when Doyle realized Angel wasn’t just towering over him anymore, he was leaning in, nuzzling Doyle’s neck, smelling his hair - that Doyle pulled away. Dazed and breathless and feeling like the whole world had spun out of control beneath him…

“I told Angel we should have waited til you got home.”

Wesley was smiling at him. Doyle blinked, then looked from him, to Angel, to Wesley again. This time, Doyle could see that Wesley’s blue eyes held the same emotions as Angel’s brown. Tenderness, apology, _desire_ , and…

Hope began to settle over Doyle, and he latched on to it with both hands. He smiled back.

“Got a bit impatient, did we?” he asked Angel.

He was teasing, but Angel’s expression remained serious.

“I've waited a long time.”

Doyle wasn’t sure what Angel meant - he hadn’t been out of the office for more than a day - but when Doyle looked to Wesley for an explanation…

Wesley raised a brow. “Angel wasn’t sure you…” He looked, meaningfully, between Angel and Doyle, letting his eyes speak for him.

Doyle got the message, and when he did he blinked. He looked at Angel, somewhat in awe, somewhat affectionately, and somewhat exasperated.

“You idiot.”

Angel frowned again. “Hey!”

Before he could say anything more, Doyle kissed him. Then he snaked one arm around Wes’s waist and pulled him in closer to the two of them. Angel’s arms went around the both of them and he laughed against Doyle’s lips.

“So…where was I?” Angel playfully asked, mock forgetfully. He and Doyle turned to Wesley as one - Angel with a feral gleam in his eye, Doyle with a wide grin.

Wesley swallowed.

“Oh…”

His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into their touch, as Angel slipped one side of Wesley’s robe from his shoulder, and Doyle rid him of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original publish date: January 1, 2005


	4. Speak Nicely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Wesley's dominant side did not enter into their sex games often, but he and Angel had had fun with it once or twice..._

"Angel, I've got to finish this final translation," Wes said, distractedly, to the lips that had settled just below his left ear. He was so intent on his research, he hadn't startled when Angel had stolen into the room - as he would normally have done. Angel's surprise kiss rated no more than a blink of the eyes.

But Angel's hands on Wesley's shoulders - gentle but firm - and the words Angel whispered against Wes's skin-

"Be good and maybe I'll let you get back to it later."

Wesley stilled, just as he would have turned to the next page of the text in his hands. Something soft brushed against Wes's chin, as Angel brought his hands around to Wes's shirtfront to slowly begin undoing the buttons. Angel held two silk ties in each of his hands. Wesley noted their color and swallowed, heart beginning to palpitate suddenly.

Color had played an important in these games, when Wesley and Angel had played them _before_. Wesley had learned to associate the color of the tie Angel used to bind his wrists and ankles - to the bedposts, to his desk, or to any other piece of furniture immediately handy - with the intensity of the lovemaking that would follow. And with the amount of time Angel would make him wait for completion, as the vampire found ever new and exciting ways to drive Wesley _past_ distraction.

"Angel..."

"Shh." Angel shushed him with a brush of his thumb across Wesley's lips. He waited, watching - until Wesley had sucked the thumb into his mouth, caressing the pad with his tongue - then smiled and arranged Wesley's arms as he wanted them - straight along the armrests of his chair, palms-down so he would dig his nails into the wood of the rests if he had to, and not his own flesh.

Wesley's eyes fluttered shut.

"Being good means not speaking if you don't have anything nice to say." _Nice_ , at times like these, meant _obedient_. Obliging. _Needing_.

Angel had unbuttoned the cuffs of Wesley's sleeves, and was slowly rolling them up to the middle of his forearms - just far enough to be out of the way. He laid one tie over each wrist - not fastening either yet. Just laying them there. He moved his hands to Wesley's knees.

Wesley was breathing heavily.

"What are some nice things you could say, Wes?" Angel asked in that same, low tone he'd used before. But he was leaning his forehead, now, against Wesley's, and his fingers were tracing comforting circles on the insides of Wesley's thighs.

They'd played games like this often. _Before_. But after-

After Faith...

Angel was placing light kisses on the corners of Wesley's mouth, on his closed eyelids.

"You okay, Wes?" he asked quietly.

Wesley forced his breath to come less desperately. He _was_ okay. It had taken him some time... To recover from the last time he'd sat in a chair like this, soon to be restrained by bindings. And to understand, on a level where it would not affect what he had with Angel, why Angel had done what he'd done for Faith, even after all of that.

In a way, Wesley had always understood. That the crisis at that time had been keeping Faith from losing what little grasp she had left on her sanity. And that Angel could not have given her the blameless support she needed, had he not turned a (seemingly) blind eye to Wesley's own need of him, in the immediate wake of Faith's torture.

But it still hadn't been easy. For days after Faith had turned herself in, Wesley had been unable to meet with Angel in anything but a professional capacity. He hadn't been able to relax into Angel's embrace for weeks. They'd made love again only after Angel had seen the scars Faith had left on Wesley's body enough times for Wes not to be self-conscious of them. Angel had kissed each one almost reverently, and his face had felt damp against Wesley's skin. There had been holes in the walls in the hotel's basement, the next day, that had not been there before, and Angel had disappeared for several hours - only returning after he'd killed as many vamps and demons as he could on his own without becoming sloppy.

Wesley nodded.

"Do you trust me?"

A pause. And then a breath. "You know I do."

Wesley meant it. But the pause did not go unnoticed.

Angel drew back. He lifted Wesley - chair and all - and moved him further away from the desk, so he could settle in front of him more comfortably.

"No. I don't," he said, when he was kneeling again. "But we're working on that."

He ran the two ties left in his hands through his fingers, capturing Wesley's now open eyes with his own. Wesley realized that he had subtly, slowly been spreading Wesley's knees apart as he'd been caressing Wesley's thighs through his trousers.

Wesley met Angel's gaze a moment longer, then nodded.

"Say something nice, Wes," Angel demanded, and this time the heat in his voice went straight to Wesley's quickly strengthening erection.

Wesley half-consciously spread his legs the few inches further for Angel to tie his ankles to his chair legs.

"Angel, please-"

When Wesley's right ankle was secure, Angel reached up and separated the two sides of Wesley's open shirt and brushed his mouth across Wesley's navel. Wes's stomach muscles jumped beneath the kiss.

"Good," Angel encouraged. He moved from tonguing Wesley's navel...to laving each of Wesley's nipples, in turn. He stroked the knuckles of the hand that held the last tie over the bulge in Wesley's trousers.

"Oh, Angel, yes..."

Wesley's eyes closed again, and his back arched as much as it could.

"Good, Wes."

When Wesley's left ankle was tied, Angel reached up - but instead of going straight for the ties still lying across Wesley's wrists, he entwined his fingers with Wesley's and squeezed, a final show of support. And a last out, in case Wesley needed it.

Wesley squeezed back, keeping his eyes shut. In the darkness, he felt Angel remove the ties. He shivered.

"Keep talking, Wes."

Angel began tying his left wrist. Wesley gripped his armrests.

"Angel, I-"

Angel was stroking him now, then unfastening his trousers, before finally using the last tie on Wesley's right wrist.

"You what?"

" _Want you_." Wesley flushed. His eyelashes lifted slightly and he stared at Angel from beneath them. "I want this."

Angel exposed him, holding him firmly and stroking him with one hand, as he tugged on each of the ties - checking their tension - with the other.

"How bad, Wes?" he asked.

Wesley was almost painfully excited. Every inch of him was straining - and, surprisingly, not against the ties that bound him. It was nothing like Wes had feared. Faith's ministrations might have temporarily effected Wes's aim, with guns and darts, and she might have scarred his body. But this had remained untouched. This heated passion... this languid submission to whatever Angel might wish to do with him; to whatever Angel might wish for him to do. Wesley had always reveled in it before. Rather than making him feel helpless, when he and Angel played with dominance and submission, Wesley felt a freedom that should have been impossible. Freedom to express his need and his pleasure without feeling wanton, or fearing rejection. Wesley felt desired and cared for...

And absolutely ready to scream if Angel didn't stroke him just a bit faster, touch him just a bit more...

"Angel... _Angel_ , please..."

The stroking stopped. Wesley made some unintelligible noise.

"Answer my question."

Wesley panted, and was rewarded with one long stroke, then with Angel's fingers brushing over the tip of Wesley's leaking erection.

"So badly I could come at any moment," Wesley forced the words out, all at once.

Angel leaned in so that his face was level to Wesley's own, and near enough that Wesley would have been able to feel his breath against his cheek. His eyes held just the slightest hint of gold, as they always did when Angel was particularly pleased with Wes's responses.

He did not smile. His voice sounded level and matter-of-fact.

"Who said you were going to get to come?" Angel asked.

Wesley's breath caught in his throat. Then Angel lowered his face into Wesley's lap. Wesley cried out as Angel's mouth engulfed him.

His voice felt almost hoarse, by the time Angel took mercy on him, much later.

Wesley was sweating and muttering broken pleas and endearments. When he came his moan was almost sob-like, and he melted - euphoric and boneless - into his chair.

Perhaps he even dozed, briefly. One moment he was still tied to the chair; in the next, the ties were gone. Angel was holding him and stroking his hair.

"Alright?" he asked softly.

Wesley was tempted to remain lax as he was, and let Angel carry him up to the bedroom where he could demonstrate how _alright_ he was. But relief over how well their encounter had gone, and the open concern and affection in Angel's eyes, enervated him.

He couldn't help the grin that spread over his face. And he crushed his lips to Angel's as he rose in his chair, pulling Angel to his feet.

Angel only watched him, quizzically - though he was smiling softly - as Wesley turned his desk chair around, with its back to his desk.

Then Wesley pushed Angel into the chair, and he began to understand.

"I will be," Wesley said. "Once I've had a bit of turnaround."

Wesley did up his trousers and kicked the ties aside, but removed his shirt - keeping his eyes on Angel's at all times. He reached over and positioned Angel's arms so that they lay straight along the edge of the desk behind him. Wesley curled Angel's fingers around the edge.

"Don't let go," he told him, in as commanding a voice as he could muster.

One of Angel's eyebrows raised, and he laughed, happily. Wesley's dominant side did not enter into their sex games often, but they'd had fun with it once or twice.

Wesley decided he wanted more than _fun_ on this occasion.

His gaze did not waver as he unbuttoned Angel's shirt, exactly as Angel had done to him. He unfastened Angel's trousers next. All this before he'd ever touched him.

He leaned in so that Angel could feel his breath against his cheek; so that the scents of arousal and completion were even nearer, and he could hear the steady pace of Wesley's heartbeat. Angel's laughter faded away.

"Now. What sorts of nice things can you say for me?" Wesley asked, mischievously.

In the morning, they would have to find ways - when Cordelia asked about it - to explain why the edge of Wesley's desk had splintered in two places. And why Angel had to wear bandages on both his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original publish date: March 18, 2005


	5. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"And you shouldn't," Wes told Harmony. "If you want to get at Angel, you can't use any of Angel's people to do it," he chastised Marcus._
> 
>  _"Any of them besides you, you mean," Hamilton smirked._

As much as she had infuriated him, during the time they'd spent together before, she must have intrigued him, as well. And some part of Wesley must have had that in mind the day he'd hired her. Harmony was, after all, the _antithesis_ of the ideal employee. Scatterbrained and easily distracted. Lacking any sense of artificial urgency whatsoever.

Come to think of it, Harmony was the antithesis of the ideal _vampire_. Which was what made her so intriguing. She had the potential to be dangerous - Wes had seen that. But she had yet to try and harm him, or any of the others, though she'd had various opportunities.

There were, of course, other qualities which Harmony possessed that made Wesley's decision to hire her fortunate in retrospect. And not all of them existed in _spite_ of her vampiric nature.

"See now?" Hamilton lounged at Wes's side on the bed, propped up on one elbow and several pillows. He drew the base of his champagne flute across Wesley's chest, letting drops of condensation slip from the glass and across Wesley's heated skin like sweat. "Didn't I tell you Harmony would bring a little something extra to the evening?" Hamilton took a sip. "The lack of a need for oxygen, for example."

"I - _ah_!" Wes's words were lost in an intake of breath, as Harmony's blonde head - farther down in their tangle of bodies and sheets - bobbed sharply.

Hamilton chuckled, sitting up. He pulled the champage bottle from the bucket of ice sitting on the bedside table, and poured another splash of champagne into his flute. He emptied the flute and sat it on the table, but kept the bottle, settling back at Wes's side.

"Mmm. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce seems to be at a loss for words. Maybe it would be alright if you let him come now."

Harmony didn't respond, but Wesley gasped as Hamilton held the cold champagne bottle to his chest. Hamilton stroked Harmony's hair with his other hand as Wes - through half-lidded eyes - watched.

Hamilton didn't react to Harmony's lack of response right away. He watched the quivering in Wes's thighs, spread just the way he had wanted them, increase as Harmony worked between them. He alternated between letting his free hand rest, gently, at the back of Harmony's head, and running it up and down the inside of Wes's leg.

Finally, he twisted his fingers in Harmony's hair and commanded, "Now."

At the same time, he withdrew the champagne bottle from Wesley's chest, and latched his warm mouth over the nipple he had used the bottle to chill almost painfully.

Hamilton pressed Harmony down on Wesley, and sucked Wesley's nipple hard. Wesley came, his entire body arching, with a sound somewhere between a curse and a wordless moan.

Hamilton was there, watching Wesley's face, when Harmony snuggled up against his other side, and Wesley recovered, his eyes fluttering open.

"Sorry!" Harmony giggled, licking her lips. "Guess I kinda got carried away."

"As was undoubtedly your intention," Wes breathed, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, his eyes on Hamilton's own.

Hamilton had set the champagne aside, and picked up the glass of blood that had also been sitting on the bedside table, instead. He smirked, and wagged his eyebrows at Wesley, once. Wesley's lips twitched, but he hid his smile in a sated sigh.

"I think you've earned this," Hamilton said to Harmony, who was purring.

She accepted her glass with a smile, a "Thank you", and a flip of her hair.

"And you," he said to Wesley, leaning over to bite his lower lip, "aren't complaining."

Wesley let Harmony tuck herself under his left arm, and ran his fingertips along the lacey edge of her lilac bra.

"Hmm." He stretched into Hamilton's kiss. "Shut up," he said softly, then slipped his tongue past Hamilton's lips before he could say something anyway.

Hamilton drew the kiss out, long and languid, slipping out of the robe he'd been wearing until he could slide atop Wesley and feel nothing but skin against skin.

"I could definitely get used to this," Harmony commented, watching the two of them as she sipped her blood - having polished off half of it in her enthusiasm; slowing down to properly savor the last.

"Don't," Wesley said, not unkindly, sensing where such a circumstance might lead. Hamilton was rocking against him as he reached over and ran his thumb along Harmony's lower lip. She sucked the thumb into her mouth coyly.

"Although we might be willing to negotiate," Hamilton spoke up, "if you'd be willing to continue our earlier conversation."

Wesley bit down on the nearest part of Hamilton's anatomy available - his nipple. Hamilton hissed softly, smirking at Wesley with equal parts arousal, amusement, and promise of retribution. The amusement and arousal were obviously prevalent, because when Wesley moved to reverse their positions, Hamilton cooperated easily.

"You should speak for yourself," Wesley told him, tonguing the nipple he'd bitten in a way that made Hamilton's eyes flutter briefly shut. Wesley leaned over to kiss Harmony, almost tenderly. His irritation at the almost-turn of their pillow talk faded at Hamilton's subtle responses to him. "And you shouldn't," Wes told Harmony, re-straddling Hamilton.

"I told you," Wesley gave Hamilton a sharp look, reaching under the pillows beneath them for the lubricant that had ended up there earlier. "If you want to get at Angel, you can't use any of Angel's people to do it."

"Any of them besides you, you mean," Hamilton smirked.

Wesley finished prepping Hamilton and himself, and slid down onto him.

Sharply.

Hamilton's hands, which had gone to Wesley's hips, tightened. His stilted moan mixed in with Wesley's.

Harmony was purring again, and had drained her glass of blood, to free her hands for other things. Wesley raised himself until Hamilton was almost free of his body, then lowered himself again. And again. He didn't reply to Hamilton's comment.

"That's what I thought," Hamilton had to get the last word in, before reaching up and pulling Wesley to him, covering Wesley's mouth with his.

He bent his legs at the knees, and took over the rythm of Wesley's movements. Thrusting up into Wesley, pulling Wesley down onto him by his hips as he did, reversing Wesley's slow and steady pace, and taking him fast and hard. Wesley drew back.

"Yes, _ah_..." He arched his back.

Now Harmony began to pout. "Keep that up, a girl might get to feeling left out."

Her eyes moved from tracing the muscles of Hamilton's stomach, watching as they flexed with his thrusts, to the flush of Wesley's skin as his head fell back, baring his throat. Wesley could imagine her thoughts were much the same as they had been when she'd arrived this evening. Focused on how many of Angel's secrets she could spill to win Hamilton's favor, and another hit of fresh human blood.

Wesley leaned over Hamilton, biting at his lips. He ran his hands over Hamilton's shoulders...then began pulling the pillows out from under him, and tossing them aside, leaving Hamilton flat on his back.

"Well...you could give Mr. Hamilton something to do with his mouth. Before he uses it to get himself into trouble."

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. Harmony giggled.

Wesley smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original publish date: April 28, 2005


	6. Celebrate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley and Doyle have Angel guess what they've given him as a birthday present.

He'd been skeptical when they'd told him he'd have to guess what they'd gotten him for his birthday, before he could see it.

Wesley wasn't good at guessing games. He hunted demons professionally, and there was a certain amount of guesswork involved in demon-hunting. But guessing what was going on in his half-demon lovers' head-

"Is it..."

Wes was stalling. He knew he was stalling. But he couldn't think. Which was probably half the point...

"Is it what, Wes? Clock's ticking, you know."

Wesley swallowed. Doyle was running his fingers up and down the inside of Wes's right arm. Angel wasn't touching him at all. Which was almost worse. Because Wes knew, when his time was up, how that would change.

"Is it..." Wesley's mind went blank.

"I think he's stalling, Angel," Doyle suggested.

Wesley released a shaky breath. "N-no-"

"I think you're right," Angel said. He was already nuzzling Wesley's neck. Wesley squirmed with the anticipation of what came next.

"An-"

"Shhh." Angel shushed him, running his thumb across Wesley's lips. From beneath his blindfold, Wesley couldn't see what was happening, of course. But he could hear the rustle of bedsheets, feel the mattress shift, as Angel and Doyle traded places.

"Fran-"

Wesley's words died away, as Doyle's lips covered his. Then emerged as a moan, as Doyle lowered his body over Wesley's, rubbing against him, skin to bare skin.

"Uh-uh-uh," Doyle chastised. "You had your chance. You know how this works. One wrong guess means one punishment. And stalling-"

"I wasn't stall-"

Doyle drew back, and the next kiss to silence Wes, was Angel's. Wesley moaned again.

Doyle chuckled. "Stalling counts just the same as one wrong guess."

Wesley almost whimpered, as Angel licked and sucked - and _bit_ \- at his lips. Then a hand - larger than his or Doyle's, less callused than his own - lowered itself to his chest. And began to trace circles across Wesley's skin. Lower, and - slowly - lower down his stomach, as Wesley's muscles clenched and unclenched beneath Angel's fingertips.

The game hadn't begun like this.

It had started off fairly innocent. Except for the blindfold. Angel and Doyle had led Wes from the office, with nothing more than a hand at the small of his back, or a set of fingers linked tightly with his.

He'd objected to playing at first, of course, because he hadn't actually wanted to acknowledge his birthday. It was Doyle's insistence - since the three of them had begun a relationship - that they celebrate occasions like these.

Then he'd made a few, half-hearted attempts to consider what his persuasive pair might have gotten for him.

' _Books?_ ' he'd asked.

' _No_ ,' Angel had shot down that attempt.

' _A new cellphone_?' He'd lost his last one to an Uk'naua demon a week before.

' _Yeah, you're probably gonna need one of those, but no._ '

' _Clothes?_ '

' _God, no._ ' Doyle had answered. Wesley had heard his grin. ' _Is either of us Cordelia?_ ' Actually, it wouldn't have been the first time Angel had bought Wesley clothes, but-

' _A weapon of some sort?_ '

That's when things had changed.

' _I don't think your head's in the game, Wes,_ ' Angel had accused.

And maybe Wes had noticed how close he and Doyle had been standing next to him. Angel's every word was a careful breath against Wesley's skin. Doyle kept sneaking his hands up under Wesley's shirt, or ruffling his hair, or pinching his ass. But this was the way Angel and Doyle always behaved. Over the time they'd been together, touching had practically become a part of their body language whenever they were alone with Wesley. They touched Wesley like some people gestured as they talked. Often. And almost as if they were unaware that they were doing it.

Then _Angel's_ hands had found their way into Wesley's clothes. Stroking his chest, his back... And Doyle had begun trailing haphazard kisses across his collarbone, gripping Wesley's hips, leaning in...

Wesley had gotten the feeling that their light-hearted play was about to become less light.

By the time Doyle and Angel had moved him into Angel's bedroom, and gotten him to lie down on the bed, Wesley was guessing things at random. He'd given up on guessing by form or function, and had started focusing on size and shape. Even color.

' _Red_?'

Angel had begun exploring Wesley's chest with his tongue. Wesley had lost his clothes shortly after ' _...something square, or..._ '

' _Nope._ '

Doyle had become fixated on the insides of Wes's thighs.

' _Ye...Ah...Yellow?_ '

' _No_.'

Then Angel and Doyle had come up with a set of rules, to encourage Wesley not to guess so rashly.

' _He should only get one guess at a time, don't you think?_ ' Doyle had suggested after Wesley's next five wrong guesses. It had taken Wesley a moment to realize why his voice sounded a bit farther away.

' _Sounds good,_ ' Angel had agreed. ' _Lift your leg for Doyle, Wes. The other one. Good. Yeah. Just...like that..._ '

' _Oh, God..._ '

Wesley couldn't remember who had decided upon his punishment for guessing wrong. With every wrong guess, Angel and Doyle took turns almost causing Wesley to come.

With an emphasis on the _almost_.

"Please..."

Wesley's skin was damp with sweat and flushed pink. His breaths came in short gasps, or sharp, stuttering pants.

Angel was stroking him. Long, slow slides up his erection; blunt brushes over the tip; soft caresses over his balls and below. Never an increase in pace or in pressure. Just a strong, steady movement that made Wesley want to writhe and scream.

No screams left his lips. Wes was too tense. Every muscle taut as a climax built. Angel's hand worked him perfectly. Doyle, perhaps, sensed how little it would take to push Wes over the edge, so he kept his hands to himself.

Wesley had almost begun to tune out the conversation Angel and Doyle had been carrying on as they'd practiced this peculiar brand of torture. He'd stopped listening to the sounds that came, now and again, of Angel kissing lips that weren't his own; of Doyle touching the vampire's flesh. At first, the sounds had been fascinating. But before long they'd become too much.

Now Wes almost missed what Angel said to him, as the need for release - again - approached. Growing with each movement of Angel's fingers. _Still_ no faster than before...so that Wesley would do _anything_ to make it happen. Make the torment stop. The teasing...

"I'm beginning to think you've given up guessing," Angel was saying.

Wesley couldn't respond. Was ready to sob if Angel asked him to try.

"I don't think he can speak," Doyle said, voice low and soft. The sound was nearly enough to finish Wesley, by itself.

"Oh..."

That was the tone of voice Doyle always used at a moment like this. And Wesley could picture the look that had to be on his face when he used it. An expression somewhere between smiling and slack-jawed - equal parts arousal, joy, and awe. Like he couldn't believe he was lying there, just then, watching his lover about to come - and couldn't believe he was at least half the reason why.

"What do you say, Wesley? Ready to give up?"

Half-mindless with need, Wesley shook his head - fearing what Angel meant by "give up" - knowing only that he couldn't do it again. Come this close to what every part of his body was crying out for, and then come back down, dissatisfied.

"Shh." Doyle kissed his lips. Angel kissed the side of his neck. "It's okay, Wes."

"Game's over."

Doyle put his hand over Angel's, and suddenly... _there_.

Speed...pressure... Just-

"Wes..."

Angel pressed in close to him on one side, Doyle on the other... Their erections pressed into his hips. Their mouths moved down either side of his throat. Wesley cried out, his body arching as he finally came, and settled into Angel and Doyle's dual embrace.

"Wes..."

Wesley dozed almost immediately after that. He lay between Doyle and Angel as they held him, kissed him, touched- Soft caresses meant only to comfort and relax - given with grins Wesley's eyes were closed and therefore unable to see.

Angel and Doyle enjoyed watching Wesley drift in and out of sleep, loose-limbed and sated - the end result of their plans for helping Wesley celebrate the year.

They enjoyed the calm before the storm - and retaliation - that was soon to come, when Wesley recovered from their gift-guessing game. And realized that the game itself was the gift he'd been trying to name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for theferretgirl on May 13, 2005


	7. Adorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jewelry, then, was a mystery...

He didn't know where it came from. If it was new or if he just hadn't seen it before. For all he knew, it could be a present from Lilah. But that wasn't a happy thought. Or a safe one, when they were like this. And he'd told himself he'd do his best to bring them back to that place. Where "happy" was an issue. They'd both had enough of the opposite over the past year.

"Angel..."

Wesley writhed beneath him. Angel couldn't fault him a little frustration. The only thing holding Angel back from pushing them both towards an explosive climax was his vampiric stoicism. He teased them near the edge, instead. With slow, careful movements of his body against Wes's. Whenever Wesley bucked against him, Angel stilled. And held Wes's hips until he settled back down.

In the meanwhile, he explored Wes's skin with his lips. And ran his hands across Wes's chest; down his sides.

" _Angel_..."

It was getting harder to keep his own, steady pace. The sound of Wes breathing his name- Angel tightened his hold on Wes's hips. Then forced himself to relax, sliding his hands around until he was gripping Wes's ass, instead. He'd be surprised if the human didn't have two sets of finger-shaped bruises by morning.

"Wes..."

He'd waited too long for this. Maybe he'd always been waiting - and just hadn't known what he was waiting for. It was different with Wes than it had been with anyone else. A part of Angel couldn't believe it was _Wes_ here with him. And a part of him couldn't imagine how things had gone on the way they had before.

Angel nibbled Wes's neck; kissed a steady trail up and down his throat, as Wesley clutched at his shoulders and arms.

A part of Angel kept expecting Wes to be the same.

Wes's scars gave him pause. Not just the- But the smaller, newer ones, too. From rough cases Wesley had worked on his own, or with his own crew. And whenever Wes moaned, Angel was half-surprised at how much like a soft growl the sound was. Even Wesley's voice had changed. Angel supposed it was lucky Wes sounded like himself at all, after the kind of injury he had suffered. If Justine had cut just a little further... Or if Wes had lain in that alley just a while longer...

Wes mumbled something like a curse, as Angel allowed himself a deeper, stronger thrust. He pressed himself to Wesley fully, not minding the minor sting as he did, needing the total contact. His tongue traced a line along Wes's skin, parallel to the thin chain that hung around Wesley's neck, and - yes - there'd be a mark there tomorrow, too - to match the bruises on Wes's thighs and hips.

The cross that hung on Wes's chain would be what had caused Angel's chest to sting. And Angel knew he would have a mark of his own, to last the next several days.

"Angel, you-"

"Shh."

Angel silenced Wes with a kiss, then went back to his ministrations.

Wes didn't likely understand. Angel wasn't even sure _he_ understood. Why his eyes kept traveling back to that cross, now that he knew that Wes wore one. Why his mouth kept returning to the skin it touched. Wes couldn't be comfortable having him, a vampire - a vampire who'd once tried to kill him - pay such close attention to that particular part of his body. Angel took it as a sign of trust, that Wes didn't shy away. And tried to ignore those moments when Wes actually arched his neck to accept Angel's touch. All illusion of following a set pace would fly out the window if Angel let himself linger on Wes's reacting like that.

It was, again, about the difference. Between Wes now, and Wes as he'd been.

Maybe the other differences in Wes were more noticeable. The way he dressed. The way he cut his hair. The stubble and the scar and the way he carried himself. His voice. But...

For some reason, Angel thought of the jewelry as a more _tangible_ difference. He could look at Wesley and see him as he was...but also as he'd been. He could hear him speak, and hear a softer, smoother version of the same voice at the same time. Angel couldn't look at that cross and see the man who'd accidentally stuck an ax in his office wall. He couldn't see the ring on Wesley's right hand and hear Wesley babbling about a knit sweater, in Cordelia's living room during a party.

Most people thought of jewelry as a method of adornment. There were symbols, of course, and metals that could imbue their wearer with certain magics. But mostly, jewelry was worn to be seen. And to draw someone's eye where the wearer wanted them to see it. A pendant that hung just above a woman's cleavage, a bracelet around a slender wrist, rings to show off the shape and size of the fingers they'd been slipped upon...

Wesley didn't adorn himself. He had dressed, before, only to make himself presentable. _Acceptable_. And, later, he'd dressed for comfort; in whatever was most convenient to wear when something nasty needed to be killed.

Even now that Wes's dress style had changed... To tight jeans and baggy cargo pants - that, somehow, both seemed to emphasize the length of his legs, the muscles in his thighs, the shape of his ass... And dark colors that set off his eyes... Angel didn't think Wes was _trying_ to turn himself into eye candy. He'd just stopped caring if how he looked was "presentable" or not. And maybe he'd realized the power in the that.

The jewelry then...was a mystery. And an interesting one. Wes wasn't just wearing anything on his chain. That he'd begun wearing a _cross_... And kept wearing it. Even now that things had changed again between them, this time for the better... That he would let Angel rake his teeth, countless times, across the tender flesh of his throat...but hadn't so much as offered to take his necklace off, as he and Angel had stumbled backwards into bed...

Angel moved his lips down to Wesley's collarbone, brushing the delicate metal of the chain as he planted delicate kisses on Wes's skin. He arched his back slightly, following the short chain to its center.

His hips began to move more quickly without his conscious decision. But when Wes bucked against Angel this time, he let him. He kept a firm grasp of Wesley's ass, nearly lifting Wes off the mattress as he slid neatly out of him, then thrust - hard - back in.

Wes cried out and dug his nails into Angel's back. Angel felt a growl of his own rise up in his throat.

He brought one hand between his and Wes's bodies, taking Wesley's weeping erection firmly in his fist. Wes's thighs tightened around his waist.

" _God_ , yes..." Wesley mumbled. Angel could sense his eyes on him.

He looked up. And met Wesley's gaze.

Some things about Wesley _were_ the same. Angel didn't forget that. There were things about Wesley that a change of clothes, a haircut, a new crew could _never_ change. And Angel could say that to Wes, and probably make it sound like a bad thing, but the truth was - it was the most important things about Wesley that had remained unchanged. The strongest things. The things about Wes that had drawn Angel to him from the beginning - whether he had thought of them that way, back then, or not.

These were the things Angel was glad hadn't changed. And some of them only showed themselves when Angel - and maybe even Wesley - least expected.

Or when Wesley could least control himself. Like now. When that cold, blank look that sometimes came into Wes's eyes was a million miles away - and Wesley looked as open and vulnerable as he had the day Cordelia had told them she trusted them with her life, as he'd wiped his tears away.

Angel held Wesley's gaze. Moving in him purposefully. Still dropping kisses on his skin. Wesley's irises smoldered beneath his lashes.

"I love having your eyes on me." Angel hadn't meant to say it aloud, but he was glad when he did. Wesley twitched, in Angel's hand, and tightened around him in a way that drug a moan past Angel's lips. Wesley gasped, eyes nearly fluttering shut.

"Don't close them," Angel demanded, with more force than he'd intended, hips snapping towards Wesley's - now - at a rapid pace.

Wesley's eyes opened wide, full of some unreadable expression.

And Angel - out of nowhere - had a thought pop into his head.

He didn't linger on it. Instead, he waited until he was certain Wes was watching...began stroking Wes slow and easy...leaned forward, and placed a kiss on the center of Wes's chest. Over Wes's heart. Inches from where the cross on Wesley's chain lay against his skin.

"Come for me, Wes," Angel said, quieter now - voice ragged with the strain of holding his completion - as well as his demon - in.

The words were barely out of Angel's mouth when Wes was coming in his hand and shouting his name. His climax immediately brought Angel over the edge with him. He nearly collapsed on top of Wes, Wes's cross the only thing between them, marking Angel once again. The burn formed right atop his silent heart, and throbbed almost in time with Wes's heartbeat, pounding beneath him as he pressed Wes's chest to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Publish Date: May 22, 2005


	8. Benefit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Soulless_.

He could almost believe he had made it all up in his head. Or that Angel had somehow put it out of his own.

But none of them were that lucky.

Even as masochistic as his imagination could admittedly be, Angel - and Fred - had been a development beyond Wesley’s wildest dreams. And Angel forgot nothing. Wesley, of all people, should know that.

“If I swung that way…”

The charade was for Gunn’s benefit, nothing more. Fred knew exactly where Angel’s - and, with near certainty, Angelus’ - interests _swung_. The knowing was there in her wide eyes as Angelus spoke the words. The memory of - kneeling, naked, on Angel’s bed - Angel kneeling in front of her, with Wesley there between them…

‘ _It’s okay, baby. Just let it go. Let it go, Wes._ ’

The memories were there with Wes, too. Angel’s whisper in his ear; teeth - then fangs - on his neck. Fred had stared at them a bit like she was staring at them now. As if trying to imagine how she had come to be in this place, in this situation. Her lips had been sweet-

‘ _Kiss him, Fred._ ’

-and shy against the corners of his.

Like she hadn’t just watched Angel press Wesley into the mattress and come deep inside him. As if she hadn’t been watching Angel moving inside him then, one arm across Wesley’s chest to hold him up on his knees. Fred had leaned into them both - the hair atop Angel’s forearm brushing the underside of her breasts; her nipples hard against Wesley’s flesh as Wesley came in Angel’s fist.

“Fred-”

Fred fled the basement as she had the both of them, the morning after that one night they’d had together.

Wesley could chase after her and explain himself, however possible. He could kiss her as he had before, in his old office - letting all the hunger and desire of the night-that-might-as-well-have-never-been bleed into their embrace.

Or he could do as she had done. As Angel had done, after everything else had fallen apart.

As Angelus was doing. Treat it as if he _had_ made it all up in his head…

Because who would believe the vampire if he tried to use it against them, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Publish Date: July 5, 2005


	9. Kinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Sequel to the previous chapter.)

“You’re kidding me.”

Wesley liked to think his _kinks_ , as Fred insisted on calling them, were perfectly understandable considering his taste in lovers. Wesley lay against the headboard, and Fred lay back against him. Wesley ran his hand under the edge of the bedsheet that _barely_ covered Fred’s naked breasts. Fred sighed, then reached up and behind her to brush her fingertips over the light scars on the sides of Wesley’s neck.

“So that’s where these came from.”

“Hmm.” Wesley’s hand paused in the place it seemed to be having the greatest effect. Fred gasped and squirmed. Wesley smiled, knowing he’d played some small part in coaxing those sweet noises from her lips.

When the curves of Fred’s bent knees, under the bedsheet, seemed to draw closer together, Wesley gently pinched the nipple he’d been rubbing previously. Fred cried out, the hand that had moved up to Wesley’s cheek falling to his shoulder and gripping him; the other twisting in the coversheet beneath them.

“Uh, uh, uh, Fred,” Wes chided playfully. “Be a good girl now and keep your legs spread wide, as you were asked to do.”

Wesley had been surprised, though quite pleased, to learn that Fred considered _that_ tone of his voice to be one of _her_ “kinks”.

“Oh, God…”

There was movement beneath the sheet, and Fred’s knees returned to their original position, as Fred’s back arched against Wesley’s chest. Wesley set _both_ his hands to work on kneading Fred’s breasts; playing with the pert nipples at their tips.

He placed a kiss on her temple.

“There we are,” he told her, voice still soft and smooth, speaking in that same, cajoling tone. “Isn’t that better?”

Fred was shaking by now. Her head rolled from side to side. “Wes…”

Wesley slid one hand down Fred’s body, to cup the back of the head working between Fred’s legs. A large hand rose and entwined its fingers with Wesley’s.

Fred cried out again. “ _Angel_!”

Wesley kept speaking softly in Fred’s ear, kissing her temples, her cheek, the top of her head, until the shaking stopped.

Fred breathed deeply, making a little sound of contentment when Angel finally emerged from beneath the sheet. Angel sat beside Wesley as Wes and Fred moved into his arms.

They kissed and cuddled a bit before Fred found her voice again.

“So…Angel. What kind of kinks does a two-hundred-and-fifty year old vampire have?” Fred thought about it. “I mean, that wouldn‘t, you know, send me screaming from the room if you told me.”

Wesley chuckled. Angel pinched Fred as she giggled.

Angel sighed dramatically. “I’ll leave the kinks to you humans. Between the two of you, I think we get plenty kinky in here already.”

Lying against one side of Angel’s chest, facing Wesley - who lay against the other - Fred could see that Wesley, for one, was not convinced. But he didn’t say anything at the moment.

He did mouth the words along with Angel as Angel said, “And it’s two-hundred-and-forty-eight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Publish Date: July 7, 2005


	10. Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things could apparently survive _anything_ , no matter how absurd it was that nothing had changed them.

Some things could apparently survive _anything_ , no matter how absurd it was that nothing had changed them.

The feel of a stubbled cheek against the inside of her thigh still made Fred’s breath catch. It didn’t seem to matter what had happened to her, and to Wesley, since the last time his face had touched her that way.

Angel’s sure hands and dark eyes still made her pulse race. Fred could be sick with it afterward; hate herself before and during and always… And arch into Angelus’s touch all the same.

Fred could tell herself - make a silent litany of the telling, and sing it to herself in her head - not to forget dead friends and abandoned missions.

She still responded to the two sets of hands that skillfully worked her toward climax. The two mouths that met above hers as Angelus and Wesley shared their favorite toy. Fangs cutting into one another’s lips as the two vampires kissed.

Fred told herself she was lucky. Even if she’d been repulsed by the both of them, and their games, they’d have used her. And perhaps enjoyed her all the more.

But she only half believed herself when she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Publish Date: July 9, 2005


	11. Responsive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And who knows? Maybe I won't end up making Spike even deader than usual." (Angel/Wesley/Spike)

It didn’t always work.

Sometimes the mood wasn’t right. More often than not, either one or the both of them couldn’t help themselves from going further. Angel had worried that having an “audience” would only make things more difficult…

But he’d been wrong.

If anything, Wesley seemed even _more_ responsive than usual. To _this_ , in any case. There’d been none of the awkwardness that Angel had expected as he’d stripped Wesley and arranged him on his lap. Spike had been pushing his limits further and further. Angel had told him he’d only get to watch, but now Spike’s hands were on Wesley’s spread knees. Rubbing circles along the insides of Wes’s thighs, closer and closer to his twitching cock.

That was the only physical contact they’d given Wesley so far. Besides the feel of Angel, fully clothed, pressed up against Wesley’s naked back. And Angel’s hands - one holding Wesley’s chin so that he couldn’t turn his head, one gripping Wesley’s shoulder.

And, of course, Angel’s lips and tongue. Brushing Wesley’s skin as Angel teased Wesley with his fangs.

And Wesley was still gasping and moaning, erection leaking small drops of pre-cum.

Spike’s words probably didn’t hurt.

Angel’s first instinct, when the dirty talk began, had been to tell Spike to shut up, and get out, as well. But Wesley’s hands had clenched on Angel’s thighs as he’d opened his mouth, and he’d known not to do any such thing. Angel had told Wesley not to touch either of them. And Wesley wouldn’t have disobeyed unless it was important.

“So, whaddaya say? When Peaches here is through… Do I get a taste?”

Spike _licked_ the inside of Wesley’s left thigh, right where he’d have to bite to hit an artery. “Or maybe just a _taste_?” He eyed Wesley’s erection meaningfully, before raising his eyes to Wesley’s. He didn’t put his tongue anywhere else, and Wesley shivered nicely, so Angel let it slide.

Angel raised his mouth from the curve of Wesley’s neck long enough to say, “You wish.” Though the image Spike’s words put into his head had nowhere near as unpleasant a reaction as he might have expected. It had been a long time since he and Spike had shared a-

But this was _Wesley_. And even if Spike understood that the aim here was not to _hurt_ the human, but just to drink enough to get the desired effect…

Angel wanted to growl at the very thought of _anyone_ else touching Wesley. Tasting him. Drinking-

Angel didn’t realize he had actually pierced Wesley’s flesh until Wesley cried out in his arms. Angel was usually very careful to take the biting slow. To draw out the experience as much as possible.

Spike was still talking.

“Yeah. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Watcher? The two of us taking our turns with you. And not just with that pretty mouth of yours. Or your dick or your ass. With _you_. Drinking you in… Bet you’d bloody love it.”

“Angel…”

Wesley’s hips began to move. Angel had to hold very still not to bite Wesley any further, or drink any deeper. As he writhed against him, Wesley was pressing against the erection trapped inside Angel’s pants.

Spike moved his hands to Wesley’s hipbones and just kept them there. Not holding Wesley still. But Angel felt a shudder run through Wesley’s body, and that told him Wesley knew that Spike could. It wasn’t as if Wesley could complain if he did. Angel had told him not to do that, either.

“Lotsa people get off on the biting,” Spike continued. “But not a lot of humans live to tell the tale, you know. Heh. Couple of hundred years ago, wouldn’t have even been an issue. Would’ve both had our teeth in you right now. And a couple of other things, too.”

 _That_ Angel couldn’t let Spike get away with. He pulled his fangs out of Wesley, licking at the tiny rivulets of blood that followed the movement.

But Spike was either smarter than he looked, or knew what was coming when Angel started to pull away, despite Wesley’s breathy protest.

“’Course, couple a hundred years ago, Angel wouldn’t’ve been so smitten with you, couldn’t bring himself to let me touch you. Wouldn’t have cared all that much. Now he don’t want nobody else coming near you. Probably eats ’im up just letting _himself_ have you, pet.”

“ _Angel_.”

The sound broke Angel’s control. He gave up on the idea of making Wesley come from the sensation of being fed upon alone. As pretty of a picture as that would have made, it just couldn’t compete with the need that hit Angel just then. To hear that tone of Wesley’s voice deepen and fade into panting breaths and moans.

Angel took in the sight of Wesley’s hands settling over Spike’s on his hips; Spike‘s head lowering again to Wesley‘s thigh. But he ignored those things for a moment. Concentrating, instead, on wrapping one fist around Wesley’s erection and stroking him firmly.

“Spi- Angel!”

Angel kept stroking as he suckled forcefully on the still slightly bleeding puncture wounds on Wesley’s neck.

Wesley came hotly in Angel’s hand. Wesley’s body arched against Angel’s, skin glistening with sweat. And he looked so…perfect. So… _Wesley_. That Angel didn’t immediately react when he felt lips brush against his knuckles, and realized that Spike was mouthing Wesley as Angel continued to gently work him. Spike’s lips were slightly reddened. And Wesley’s hands were gripping his now as he came down from his orgasm.

Angel planted kisses on the side of Wesley’s neck, on his shoulder, and one on his temple.

“I- I didn’t mean to…”

“Did just what you were supposed to do, luv,” Spike reassured Wesley before Angel could. Fanning the flames of Angel’s irritation just that much higher. “Making you come - thought that was the whole point.”

Angel could feel Wesley’s smile; hear it in his content sigh. One of Wesley’s hands had left Spike’s to brush Angel’s cheek. Angel felt mollified, somewhat, and pressed a kiss into Wesley’s palm as it passed his lips.

“Actually, I had planned on getting the two of you to do more than snarl at one another and lavish attention on me. Suppose I forgot that somewhere in the midst of all the lavishing.”

“That was nothing, Wes,” Angel said into Wesley’s ear, softly. Pleased that, this time, _he_ was the one to make Wesley shiver.

“Yeah. Night’s still young, innit it?” Spike smirked.

Angel slid his hands along Wesley’s chest and down his sides. He tried to ignore Spike undressing out of the corner of his eyes, but the sight was somewhat unavoidable. Then Angel noticed Wesley noticing this too.

He frowned. “And who knows... Maybe I won't end up making Spike even more dead by the end of it."

Wesley chuckled, snuggling into Angel's embrace. He patted Angel's arm as it tightened around him.

Spike wasn't even phased. "Not a chance. Feelin' as near to alive as I have in some time tonight."

It was just the sort of inappropriately honest thing Spike was bound to say. But, all thoughts of the last time he and Spike had done something even remotely like this aside...

Angel had to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Publish Date: July 9, 2005


End file.
